My Best Friend's Murder

by Polly Phillips

‘They wanted to be friends,’ Tilly points proudly at a misshapen star, a bright blue Father Christmas and three bells, all of which clash with the rest of the tree’s red and white colour scheme. My heart contracts with love for her.

  ‘They look fab,’ I say. ‘You’re such a big girl to do that all by yourself. Now, there’s a bone for Missy in my handbag. Do you think you’re grown-up enough to get it out and give it to her?’

  I leave her burrowing in my bag and go over to the breakfast bar where Izzy’s topping up two glasses of orange juice with a bottle of Moet. She holds out a plate of smoked salmon.

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’ I accept a glass and eye her warily. I’ve seen in the past how quickly Izzy’s mood can flip and I’m not sure if I’ve been forgiven for Missy’s presence yet.

  ‘Not a thing. I’ve done all the veg, they need to go into the oven in a couple of hours.’ Izzy seems to have recovered herself. ‘The turkey is in already – Rich sorted it before you arrived. You know I hate dealing with the giblets. Why don’t we sit down on the sofa and relax before Jenny and David arrive?’

  She drops onto the sofa and pats the cushion next to her. I sit down.

  ‘Did Ed get off safely?’

  ‘He did, though it took him forever. There was an accident on the M25 which caused about four hours of tailbacks.’

  ‘Four hours? Ugh. That’s why I’m glad we never travel at Christmas – unless we decide to go skiing, of course. I think Mum and Dad are mad going to New York. Though international’s different – at least there’s something worth waiting for at the end. How’s he finding being back home?’

  ‘His nephews are already driving him crazy. He told me he’s counting the minutes till he gets back.’

  ‘With three boys, I bet he is.’ Izzy shudders. ‘Though that’s what Jenny had to put up with, of course.’

  ‘I don’t think Rich and his brothers were quite as feral as Ed’s nephews. One of them draws on the walls.’ I lean back into the sofa and start to relax. It feels like any other Christmas, even though Izzy’s upped the dress code. A few Christmases ago, we spent most of the day in matching unicorn onesies. ‘Thank you for having me, by the way.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you here.’ As she rearranges the neckline of her dress, I spot a string of pearls I haven’t seen before glowing against her skin.

  ‘Christmas present?’ I point.

  ‘A total surprise.’ Izzy purses her lips in mock-displeasure. ‘Far too extravagant. I’d seen them in a shop a few months ago but I never thought Rich would remember. Lo and behold, there it was sitting on my pillow this morning when I got up. I told Rich he shouldn’t be spending so much money on me but he wouldn’t have it.’ She’s trying to sound disapproving but I can tell she’s pleased.

  ‘They’re gorgeous.’ As I reach out to finger the pearls, she flinches. There’s a pink mark between her shoulder and her neck that looks sore. It’s fresh. I’m surprised pearls would do that. When I open my mouth to tell her they’re rubbing, she carries on talking about Ed.

  ‘Tell me.’ She inclines her head sympathetically. ‘How was Ed when he got back from those client drinks the other night?’

  ‘Pretty out of it, I think. Much as he tried to hide it.’

  ‘What do you mean, hide it?’

  ‘Well he spent most of the night on the sofa and he was in the shower before I got up, no doubt trying to wash the fumes off him. Was he pretty bad?’

  ‘I was surprised by quite how candid he was being. But I left early. At one point I thought—’

  Before she can finish, the sound of ‘Jingle Bells’ fills the room.

  ‘What the hell?’

  ‘It’s our new Christmas doorbell.’ Izzy grimaces. ‘Rich put it on for Tilly this morning. She loves it. I don’t.’

  She stands up. ‘That’ll be Jenny and David. Can I get you a top-up before they come in and drink it all?’

  ‘Wait, were you going to say something about Ed being a massive drunken reprobate?’

  ‘Forget it.’ Izzy picks a dog hair off the front of her dress. ‘Too late.’

  ‘Hello, girls,’ Jenny bustles in with her arms full of brightly wrapped packages. ‘David’s got the cake. Now, where do these go? There’s hardly any room under that tree!’

  ‘Why don’t you pop them down at the front to save you crawling around looking for space?’ Izzy goes over to the freezer and pulls out the ice tray in anticipation. ‘What can I get you to drink? G&T?’

  ‘I’d murder a Bloody Mary since it’s Christmas.’ Jenny grabs a triangle of smoked salmon from the tray and settles herself onto the sofa next to me. ‘Tell me how the wedding plans are going. I see you’ve brought the dog with you. How gorgeous. Matilda must be thrilled. Matilda, where are you? Wait until you see what Granny’s got for you.’

  ‘One Bloody Mary extra Tabasco.’ Izzy reappears in double-quick time. She must have had it pre-prepared. In the corner I can see Rich at their drinks cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Tallisker whisky for David. Izzy grabs the bottle of Moet from the marble work surface.

  ‘Come on, Bec, you’ve hardly touched your mimosa.’

  ‘What’s a mimosa?’ Jenny takes a sip of her Bloody Mary and nods approvingly.

  ‘Champagne and orange juice.’ Izzy holds the bottle near my glass, waiting for me to neck it.

  ‘In my day, that was a Buck’s Fizz.’

  ‘They’re pretty much the same thing,’ I take a small sip, hoping to appease Izzy.

  ‘A Buck’s Fizz is two parts champagne to one part orange juice while a Mimosa is equal measures, so it’s weaker.’ Izzy butts me with the bottle. ‘Which means there’s no excuse for not drinking it more quickly. Come on. Jenny’s nearly finished hers.’

  ‘Actually, I’m driving.’ The words creep out of the side of my mouth. I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed but somehow I feel like I’m spoiling the fun. Not that Izzy even drinks that much herself.

  ‘You’re what?’ Izzy’s eyebrows inch upwards while her forehead stays smooth. We’ve always said we’d never do Botox. Looking at the smooth plane of skin makes me wonder if she’s reconsidered.

  ‘Driving.’ I try and inject a bit of ‘nothing to see here’ nonchalance into my tone. It works to some extent because Jenny picks up her glass and goes to check what the men are up to.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘There wasn’t really another way to get over here.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have got a bus?’ Izzy says the word ‘bus’ like it’s dirtying her mouth. It’s like the hours we used to spend gossiping on one to and from school belong to a different lifetime.

  ‘They don’t run on Christmas Day.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have got an Uber?’

  ‘They don’t take dogs.’

  ‘Are you sure this isn’t just some big elaborate excuse and really you’re—’

  ‘I’m not pregnant.’ Sometimes how well I know the way her mind works scares me. ‘I promise you’d be the first to know if there’s ever any news on that front. Aside from Ed that is.’

  Izzy opens her mouth again but I cut her off. ‘I promise it’s not a big deal. I can have a couple of glasses over the course of the day and not be over the limit. And don’t forget we’ve got that run tomorrow.’ I don’t want to admit that’s the main reason I’m driving. It’s not as if I’ll win but for once I’d like to be in the race.

  ‘Oh yes, I’d completely forgotten.’ She puts her own glass down. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t drink either. I haven’t run for weeks.’

  I nod as though I didn’t see her running trainers neatly paired in the hall, grass on the soles still wet.

  ‘Why don’t we both take it slowly then?’

  Ten

  4.10 p.m.

  It’s gone four by the time Rich declares the turkey is ready. He and Izzy have had several whispered discussions in front of the oven about whether to serve Tilly something separate, culminating in Izzy defrosting an
additional batch of homemade organic sausage rolls to keep Tilly going, half of which Tilly has wolfed down and half of which she’s fed Missy. I hope neither of them is sick. By the time we sit down, Izzy’s chignon is starting to unravel and Rich looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. I pile my fork high with food. My new running regime means I’m starving all the time. I’m waiting for Izzy to take her first mouthful when Tilly starts jabbing my elbow with her cracker.

  ‘Can we do the crackerjacks?’ She’s bouncing on her Stokke Trip Trapp high chair. ‘Me pull yours.’

  ‘Tilly, we need to wait until we’ve finished otherwise the streamers will go all over our food.’ Izzy leans over from the other side to try to take the cracker. Tilly’s hand tightens like a vice.

  ‘I want to do it now. I haven’t had any presents and I’m so hungry.’ Tilly’s three-year-old logic contradicts itself but her bottom lip is starting to quiver.

  ‘There are plenty of presents under the tree. For when we finish our food.’ Izzy presses her lips together.

  ‘But I want a hat.’

  Izzy opens her mouth and I know she’s about to parrot her favourite ‘I want never gets’. But Tilly finds an unlikely ally in David, who’s been jabbing at his iPhone for the past half an hour and only put it down when Rich started carving.

  ‘Surely the sooner we do the crackers the sooner we can actually eat,’ he pipes up in a put-upon tone as if he’s spent the morning on a starvation diet rather than thumbing through last week’s Sunday supplements with a plate of mince pies at his elbow.

  ‘Fine,’ Izzy says in a voice that suggests it’s not. ‘Let’s pull the crackers.’

  Of course the crackers that Izzy’s bought are far too sophisticated to contain anything like streamers. They’re covered in stylish monochrome chevrons (to match Izzy’s black and white place settings), and when they’re pulled, they contain things like caviar spoons and crested thimbles. There are riddles instead of jokes and the hats, when we put them on, are subdued. Looking around the table, our expressions match them. Izzy won’t put her hat on until she’s redone her hair and David refuses to wear his at all. Discovering hers is too big and neither pink nor purple, Tilly looks like she might kick off again until Rich distracts her with an extra roast potato. Christmas at the Waverlys’ seemed so much more fun last year. It’s hard to know whether it’s them that have changed, or me. I take a gulp of the ration of wine I’ve allocated myself and decide not to consider it too closely.

  Rich has barely taken his first mouthful when David asks him about work. Although he’s not quite as successful as Izzy’s dad (which you can tell kills him), Rich’s dad is super driven. At school he was the kind of dad other parents dreaded lining up behind at parents’ evenings because he interrogated the teachers and ran over time. Old age hasn’t mellowed him.

  ‘I heard from Steve Ogden that they’re looking at setting up a new division at your shop,’ David says. ‘Would you be in line to run it?’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’ Rich concentrates on cutting up his turkey.

  ‘That’s exciting,’ Jenny pipes up, clearly determined to be cheerful. She was the only one who laughed at any of the cracker riddles and she’s still wearing her hat. ‘But let’s not talk about work today. It’s a time for family.’

  ‘When will you know?’ David acts as if she hasn’t spoken. This is unusual. Normally the senior Waverlys are perfectly in unison. Today they seem slightly out of sync. Everybody does. ‘Something like this could be a pivotal moment for you.’

  Rich is practically mincing his turkey now. ‘I’m not sure.’ Anyone who knows Rich can tell from his tone that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Jenny opens her mouth, presumably to steer the conversation away, but David ploughs on.

  ‘Don’t you think you should make it your business to find out? I know when your brother was making the Geneva move he was in on every conversation. You should be ahead of this if you want to stay in contention to head it up.’

  Rich puts down his knife and fork and rests his elbows on the table. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure I do want to be in contention.’

  ‘Calm down.’ Izzy puts a restraining hand on Rich’s forearm, though he seems perfectly calm. Stressed. But calm.

  ‘Excuse me?’ David looks as if he’s swallowed something unpalatable. It can’t be the turkey. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  ‘I’m already breaking my back for them. The way things are now, Tilly just about recognizes me. I manage to see my family on evenings and weekends and still carve out the tiniest modicum of time for myself. If I take on anything else, that won’t be possible.’

  ‘Time for yourself?’ David’s tone oozes disdain. ‘That’s very new age, if you don’t mind me saying. In my time, men didn’t worry about things like “time for yourself”. We climbed the ladder as hard and as far as we could go.’

  Rich shrugs as if he’s not bothered by the implied slight on his masculinity but there’s a vein throbbing in his forehead that gives him away. I look at Izzy, expecting her to intervene. But she’s chopping up Tilly’s carrots for her. David follows my gaze.

  ‘And what do you make of this, Isabel?’

  Izzy looks at Rich. ‘If Rich feels department head isn’t a good fit, I trust him.’

  As defences go, it’s muted. I wait for her to carry on, to point out how hard Rich works, how much he does for their family. But she simply pats Rich like he’s a well-behaved pet and goes back to chopping Tilly’s carrots. Hardly a ringing endorsement.

  ‘Humph.’ David settles back into his seat. He looks like he’s got more to say but this time Jenny jumps in ahead of him. ‘This turkey is absolutely delicious. Perfectly moist. And the potatoes. Sublime. Did you use goose fat?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rich says shortly.

  ‘And the stuffing. Is it Heston?’ Jenny’s attempt at conversation peters out when Rich doesn’t reply. For a few minutes, the clink of cutlery against china and wine glasses being refilled are the only sounds to break the awkward silence.

  ‘Definitely the best turkey I’ve had all year.’ I decide to have a stab at jollying things up. This could be my last Christmas lunch at the Waverlys’. I don’t want it to go down in flames. ‘If you ever decide banking’s not for you, Rich, you can always chuck it in and become a chef.’

  The silence I’ve tried to interrupt is swelling. I look around the table. My comment might have been inane but surely someone wants to grab hold of the conversational lifeline. David’s gone such a deep shade of red he looks almost purple and Jenny’s staring at her plate like Christmas has just been cancelled. Only Rich is smirking. I’m about to ask if I’ve said something wrong when Tilly knocks her beaker over. Milk cascades across the table and everyone jumps up. There’s a flurry of activity as everyone hands their napkins to Izzy. I flick my eyes over her face. She’s clutching the wad of napkins in her hands so tightly she’s practically shredded them. From the way her lips are pressed into a thin line, I can tell that while Rich might have appreciated the joke, she did not.

  Eleven

  4.45 p.m.

  ‘Why don’t you all sit down and relax while I clear this up?’ Izzy is now attacking the spilt milk with a roll of kitchen towel, trying to stop it seeping into the floorboards. They’re reclaimed wood, all the way from Denmark, and they don’t handle stains well. ‘Rich, you could flick the box on; see if there’s a film on or something? There’s a TV schedule in the Radio Times, I think.’

  ‘Anna and Elsa?’ Tilly pushes back her chair with a scrape. ‘I want to watch Elsa and Anna.’

  ‘I’m not sure everyone wants to watch Frozen, kiddo.’ Rich ruffles Tilly’s hair as he walks past. As everyone else files into the living room, I pick up the kitchen roll and hand another sheet to Izzy.

  ‘I’m sorry I dropped such a clanger. I had no idea I was hitting such a sore spot for you.’

  ‘It’s not a sore spot for me.’ Izzy’s practically scouring the table. She looks over her shoulder.
‘It’s Rich’s parents. Careers are a touchy subject for them. Jenny’s in bits, if you must know.’

  I follow her gaze. Jenny’s perched on the edge of the sofa next to Tilly, feigning interest in the screen. But her gaze keeps flicking over to David and Rich, who are sitting in a pair of armchairs, opposite each other. Neither of them is speaking.

  ‘Why? Are they worried about you going back to work?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s nothing to do with me. It’s Charlie. He’s decided to quit his job and retrain as a teacher. Can you imagine? The son and heir. The golden child. They’re beside themselves. Thank goodness baby boy Henry’s making obscene amounts of money in Geneva or all the pressure would be on Rich, and you know how he’d take that.’

  ‘Why are they so upset about Charlie?’ I ask. ‘It’s not like he wants to become a pimp. In some circles, teaching is more respectable than being a lawyer.’

  ‘There’s no money in it though.’ Izzy sniffs. ‘I can’t imagine how Laura feels.’

  ‘I suppose.’ I thought Charlie’s wife had her own interior design company. ‘What does that have to do with Rich?’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Izzy looks over her shoulder again. ‘Rich saying he doesn’t want to go for a promotion has given them the jitters that it’s going to happen all over again. And you make some crack about him being a chef. Honestly, it couldn’t have been worse timed. David’s been on at him for months about this new department. Offering to have a word or pull strings with someone on the board. That sort of thing. Rich won’t have a bar of it. Loses his temper every time David even mentions it.’

  I think Izzy’s overreacting but I’m not going to tell her that. ‘David should be proud he wants to stand on his own two feet.’

  Izzy ignores this. ‘Anyway, that and Rich banging on about his book all the time has them both quaking in their boots. Jenny’s wondering where it all went wrong…’

  I glance over at Jenny again. The wrinkles around her eyes do seem more pronounced than when I last saw her.

  ‘You’re not worried he’s going to chuck it in, are you?’ I ask Izzy.